Life Serial 3: Heaven's Fortune
by Shade Embry
Summary: *Completed!* Sequel to "Their Law." 24/The Agency/Freakylinks/Dragnet. Loyalty tests, homicides, and vampire battles aren't the worst of it. Being left alone is.
1. The Real Thing

Heaven's Fortune 

Brittany "Thespis" Frederick

**Summary:** The sequel to "Their Law." Standing on the inside, feeling on the outside, they're caught in the middle.

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Drama

**Rating:** PG for a little language

**Dedication:** To Tisha, as always, the better half of me.

**Author's Note:** This is the third mega-crossover in the _Life Serial_ series, which began with "Coventry" and followed up with "Their Law." However, unlike the previous two parts, this part will be a crossover between _24, The Agency, Freakylinks_, and the new Ed O'Neill/Ethan Embry series of _Dragnet_. Like usual, I don't own any of the stuff that's not mine, and it's all in fun.

          "Did you get your feedback loops?" Professor Berghof was standing in front of my humanities class lecturing.

          "Yeah, the ringing in my ears," I muttered under my breath and both Leticia and Sharon smirked. Granted I had just finished half a liter of Mountain Dew, so I was quite revved up – judging by how much time I had spent mocking one fellow student's assertion that you made coal out of trees – but I was still sure he was a little boring. Of course he'd previously admitted that he puts babies to sleep, so it's not really my fault. He went on to say something else about increased consumption, and I put up my hand to get in my class participation.

          "Won't increased consumption lead to higher demand?" I said.

          Berghof nodded and wrote this in on the feedback loop on the board. I cringed as I thought of what he might do next with only about ten minutes remaining in class. _Please, God, not more odd music._ I rested my head on my forearms and waited. The bullet missed my head by a few inches and slammed into the white board right near Berghof's hand. I saw him look over at the nice hole while I instinctively ducked under the tables with the rest of the class.

          Of course, I had this rule about not carrying either my SigArm P226 or my Ehrlich 400 on campus grounds. Then again I'd never expected to be shot at in college. Only at the office.

          "Damn," I muttered, and that seemed to say it all.

          I shook my head and turned the car stereo down a notch. I know I have a strange mind, working for the government and such, but I wouldn't call that a daydream. I had borrowed one of my office's cars and was driving across town to Division, where our district director had requested me to handle some personnel changes going on over there. Only having had my permit for about two months (since I'd decided I needed it in the wake of a full-blown assault at an L.A. restaurant), I was having more trouble driving than I did with my actual job as Administrative Assistant Special Agent In Charge for the Counter Terrorist Unit's Los Angeles office.

          My car pulled into a parking space right by the door and I grabbed my attache off the passenger seat, swapped my leather jacket for my black blazer (at CTU we didn't have a dress code but this is Division) and scanned my keycard in the front door, which popped with a sound. I cringed. I've really got to get used to that sound. The security guys waved me through and I stepped onto the main Division ops floor, scanning for George Mason.

          "You're seven minutes early."

          "Were you _counting_?" I said, somewhat taken aback.

          "No, I just happen to be good at math." Mason approached and shook my hand warmly. He had been a continual presence around my office since I came to work for CTU, and since the events of the attempt on Senator (now President) Palmer's life, not to mention the apprehension of traitor and terrorist Nina Myers, as well as the return of suspected traitor (but really just AWOL employee) Michelle Dessler, we had ended up being thrown together a lot more often and my respect for him had grown. I favored him with a small smile as he said, "It's good to have you down here."

          "I'm glad I could be of service." I followed him toward the other side of the room, toward his office. "So what is that you need? I've got to be back kind of early. Lex and I have a score to settle. He thinks he can beat me at a Trial of Grievance in _MechWarrior 2_."

          Mason chuckled dryly. "The two of you amaze me at times," he said, holding the door open for me and then closing it behind himself as I remained standing in front of his desk. "I need you to review staff and staff candidates. You've got a good third eye and we need that. Especially given what happened to Jack." He was referring to my boss, Jack Bauer, who had been duped by Nina Myers like the rest of us. I nodded, omitting how good it had felt for me to put a bullet into her arm in England. "I know what you mean," I said. "Give me the master list and a place to work and I'll get started."

          He handed me a three or four page packet. "Just go ahead and use right here. You've already got my authorization code," he said, "take your time and keep me up to date. If you need to see anybody, just let me know." On that note, George left me be. He knew I could handle myself, and besides he had work to do, more than usual as CTU was still overhauling itself. I circled around and dropped into his desk chair, staring at the two dozen or so names on the first page of the packet. This might take a while.

          Twenty minutes or so later the phone on his desk bleeped. With nothing to lose I picked up the receiver and punched the extension. "Division, this is Agent Frederick."

          "Brittany, it's me."

          "Lex, what's going on? You really don't think you'll win, do you?"

          My partner and CTU tech officer, Agent Lex Richards, just chuckled. "That's another story, but that's not why I called. I just took a call for you from the LAPD. Homicide division."

          "What?" I blurted, more than a little surprised. "Why am I being called by homicide? Explain it slowly."

          "A Detective Smith just called. They had a homicide uptown this morning, and apparently the victim had your business card in his pocket. They want to talk to you as soon as possible. I told them you'd meet them in an hour downtown."

          I exhaled, knowing I'd have to explain this to Mason, Jack, God and everybody, not to mention I didn't have the slightest clue what the heck was going on. At least, thus far, it didn't appear to have anything to do with Code Fives, which were the particular vampire prey of my recent boyfriend, Michael Colefield. That's right, an average day on my job involves terrorists, suspected terrorists, homicides, vampires, and maybe, just maybe, blowing things up.

          "Right, okay. I'm on it."

          "I'll cover for you."

          "Get Paula."

          "Why Paula?"

          "Because you're coming with me."

          "Is that really…"

          "Lex."

          "… Right, I'll finish up and meet you in the Division parking lot in twenty minutes." He paused, and there was silence on the line; I could hear him thinking. "Brittany, did you ever realize that more and more we seem to be around when everything goes down?"

          I nodded. "Yeah, I did notice that. Creepy, isn't it?"

          "Uh, yeah. Majorly. See you soon." 

          "Right. Bye." We hung up on each other simultaneously, and I exited Mason's office promptly, leaving the paperwork on his desk for obvious reasons. He spotted me approaching and could read the look on my face (I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, as the saying goes), and quipped, "I'm guessing you're not done yet."

          "No, I'm just potentially involved in a homicide." At his look, I elaborated. "Lex called. Uptown somebody got killed with my business card and now homicide division would like a word with me in an hour. I'm leaving in twenty minutes, and I know absolutely nothing, so as you can imagine, I feel pretty good about myself."

          My boss's boss smirked. "I mean this nicely but I wouldn't ever want to be you."

          "None taken. I'm kind of having that feeling myself." I checked my watch and sighed. "Listen, anyway, I've got to make some calls before I go, call Jack and such, but I promise I'll come back and get that master list done for you as soon as I can. Provided I'm not, I don't know, arrested or something."

          "It's all right."

          "Okay, then I'll see you later." I started walking to the door, then stopped when Mason called me back. I arched an eyebrow, waiting to see what he wanted. "Yeah?" I said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

          "Just for paranoia's sake," he said, "I'd take your gun."


	2. Limitations

CTU Division Office Parking Lot 

**Los Angeles**

I made two calls sitting in my car while trying to locate either of my two guns.

          The first was directly to Jack. As my supervisor, he needed to know that I was in a hot state, not to mention an accurate report of my whereabouts. But as my mentor and one of my oldest friends, practically a second father, he'd probably want to know what the hell was going on. And maybe talking to him could make me stop feeling like I was about to walk into a _Law & Order_ rerun.

          _It's probably nothing_, I said to myself, listening to the ring as I climbed over the seat to find the lockbox.

          "Bauer."

          "Hey, it's me." I tried to sound like everything was okay. "Did Lex tell you what's going on?"

          "Yeah, he said you had a meeting with the LAPD."

          "Did he tell you why?" I was now half in the back seat, punching buttons to unlock the small steel box I kept in a compartment in my trunk with an unsteady hand and therefore not being very accurate. I swore as I missed and punched the wrong button on accident.

          "No. Is everything okay?"

          "Um … I have no idea, Jack." I finally dragged the box back with me to the driver's seat, flounced in my seat and started getting the combination right this time. "He told me that what they told him was that someone was killed uptown this morning with my business card in his pocket, so naturally they want to speak to me. I mean … I'm sure it's nothing."

          "You didn't kill them."

          "No, I didn't, so it can't be anything big, right?" I had now gotten the box open and elected to carry the SigArm with me. It was the standard CTU service weapon, and if the cops noticed me carrying, which I hoped they would or they obviously lacked training, it was way more normal for me to be packing that than the highly technical, hard-to-find Ehrlich. I put the Sig into my holster and put the box on the floor. "Go ahead and tell me I'm not going to be arrested."

          "You're not going to be arrested. I can even send over a lawyer if you want."

          I rubbed my temple with my free hand. "No, that's not necessary. Lex is coming with."

          "Okay, but call me as soon as you finish up. I want to make sure you're okay."

          This brought a smile to my face; typical Jack. "I promise I will."

          "Take care of yourself."

          The second call was to the Los Angeles Hilton, where Michael was staying. He was originally from London, where he worked for CIB, an elite government force that fought Code Fives. However, when a small cell of them was discovered in L.A. (that we'd hopefully obliterated in a battle that had cost me a lot), he was reassigned to do some reconnaissance. I didn't complain, because by then we'd made up about his cold-shouldering me after England and had become a couple. I figured he'd want to know that I might miss dinner.

          "Hey, it's me."

          "Brittany, what's going on?" he said, sounding definitely pleased to see me, which made me smile. "The paperwork getting too much for you already?"

          "Not quite." I exhaled. "I've got to go meet with the police."

          "The police? Why?"

          "Apparently there was a homicide and the victim had my business card. That's all I know. Lex and I are driving up to meet the investigating officers at their precinct shortly. I don't know how long it might take…"

          "Do you want me to come up?"

          "No, you've got work to do, it's okay. I just wanted you to know what's happening." Behind me I heard and recognized the distinct sound of Lex's car pulling into the lot. "Anyway, he's here. I'll see you tonight, hopefully. And I love you."

          He told me he loved me and we hung up on each other. I relocked the car and slid into the passenger seat of Lex's vehicle cleanly. He backed out and we were on our way. Once we hit the street, he looked over at me. "Who'd you call?"

          "Jack and Michael."

          "Should have seen that coming." We shared a chuckle. "Anyway, let's do this."

          "Yeah, so I can get it over with." I paused. "And you know what the thing of it is?"

          "Do I want to know?"

          I smiled, but then it faded. "I almost became a homicide detective."

          "Are you serious?" He was quite amused, and it made me laugh.

          "I'm serious," I said. "I was debating between assistant district attorney, homicide detective and filmmaker when I got recruited. I could just as easily be on the other side. What?"

          Lex was looking at me with an amused smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes.

          "You're imagining me in the uniform, aren't you?" 

          "No, actually I was imagining you throwing chairs in an interrogation room." The two of us laughed together. We could laugh about it now, but the one time I _had_ actually thrown a chair in an interrogation room had been in my London interrogation of Nina Myers, when I had gone completely off the deep end. "But you can pretend I said whatever you wanted to hear."

          I punched him in the arm. "Okay, why don't we get back to reality now?"

          The truth was, reality was slightly disconcerting, and of course, real. We made it to the precinct a good fifteen minutes early thanks to light traffic, and as I walked in I endeavored to act professional and not choke on my own darkest fears, which were running through the back of my brain on a tape loop. Lex and I decided to take this meeting as if it were a meeting with Ryan Chappelle, Mason's former boss except for that he was dead, without the many "damn the man" thoughts that ran through our heads every time we met Chappelle.

          As such, when we were escorted by the officer over to the desks of Sergeant Joe Friday and Detective Frank Smith, the first thing I did in introductions was to produce my CTU warrant card. "I'm Agent Brittany Frederick, Counter Terrorist Unit," I explained, "and this is my partner, Agent Lex Richards. You wanted to speak to me?"

          "Yes, as a matter of fact we did." Sergeant Friday, the senior of the two, spoke first and got right to business, extending his hand. I took it and we shared a firm handshake. Obviously he was a by-the-book veteran, which was fine with me. I could tell in his eyes he was solid and there wouldn't be any illusions on his playing field. "I'm Sergeant Friday, this is my partner, Detective Smith."

          Smith and I also shook hands. He was much younger than his partner and he had an honesty about him, but I knew from experience that was a two-way street: charismatic honesty that told the truth, and a harder-around-the-edges component that spoke of volumes of no-nonsense intensity. He smiled at me, and I took that as a sign that he wasn't the type to throw chairs in an interrogation room.

          "I haven't been told that much about the situation," I explained to the detectives, "so perhaps you could summarize it for me."

          Sergeant Friday nodded. "Our victim is a male, mid-thirties, killed apparently by two gunshot wounds in the vicinity of his heart. We're still waiting on identification, but if you have a moment, maybe you'd recognize him."

          I looked uneasily at Lex, creeped out by the idea of being in a morgue (that was why I hadn't become a homicide detective). He didn't look too thrilled either, but then again he wouldn't be the one doing it. Breaking the uneasily silence was Detective Smith, who stood up from his chair and said, "It's not that bad. Come on, I'll show you to it."

          Carefully trying to conserve my self-image, I just nodded. As I followed Detective Smith, I suppressed a shudder. Taking a look around, it was fairly obvious that Lex was right: our lives were going to hell in a handbasket, and we were just along for the ride.


	3. Subjective Progress

Morgue Viewing Room 

**Los Angeles Police Department**

**Los Angeles**

          I stood in the small, simplistic room, Detective Smith at my back. They were bringing the body out.

          I don't know who I expected to see there. Unlike the main Agency's protocol, where deniable operators and officers of a certain level or assignment can't reveal their jobs to anyone, CTU is just another government office. You're free to state that you work for the Counter Terrorist Unit without fear of reprisal. I didn't tell many people, anyway, in the interest of security and not being mocked openly, but I was trying to go through the list of people that did know. Michael knew, my old friend Chris knew, my housemate Leticia and her friends Vaughn and Weiss knew, and I thought my former history professor, Professor Stephen Cox, he might have known … it could be any one of them.

          "You ready for this?" Smith asked me and I nodded without turning round.

          They showed me the body. I took a long moment, studying the details of the face, trying to rack my operational memory. The fact that I lacked instant identification was probably a good sign, a sign that it wasn't anyone I loved, but I kept searching. Detective Smith came to my side, and I turned and looked to him.

          "You don't know?" he said, reading my eyes.

          "I have no idea," I replied. "Which would leave only one solution. I gave my business card to somebody I do know…"

          "… And that person gave it to this guy." The detective nodded, motioning to the coroner's assistant that we were through. "In that case I'll need you to come up with a list."

          "I will." As we walked toward the door, my brain was still racing. "I'll need to ask you a favor."

          "Which would be what?" he said leadingly, holding open the door for me.

          I waited until we fell in stride again heading down the hallway before I answered. "If this does involve me, or someone close to me, I want to be involved in the investigation. An active participant. Any way I can help at all, I want to be here. If I'm somehow responsible for someone's death … well, I know what I have to do."

          "We'll keep you involved," he said, and we let the matter drop.

          As we walked back into the bullpen, he shook his head, letting Sergeant Friday know I hadn't made a positive ID. Catching the gesture, Lex looked at me, and I shrugged, my 'I have no friggin' idea what is happening here' shrug. That only made him arch an eyebrow and get more perplexed. I came back to him and he leaned over to me. 

          "Not even a vague idea?"

          "No, what can I say?"

          Our little discussion was interrupted by Sergeant Friday. "If you want to start putting that list together, we can get things started."

          "Oh, yeah, of course." I pulled up a chair, accepted a notepad and a pen, and started racking my brain for names. By the time I reached the bottom of page one, I knew this was going to take a while. If I thought Mason's list was long, I probably should have thought again.

          Later I sat on the stairs leading up to the next floor, hands clasped in my lap, watching the LAPD's Robbery Homicide Division go about its work. Lex was standing next to me, watching everything move in coordinated chaos. Detectives Friday and Smith were busy getting the autopsy report, so we were left to our own devices, trying to knock names off the list. I'd already phoned the CIA's Los Angeles office and Leticia had told me she didn't recall anything, but would ask Vaughn and Weiss, so at least her name was off the list. That made me feel better.

          "At least it's not vampires again," he said, trying to be helpful.

          "Yeah, but you never know," I replied, looking over and up at him. "At least this is something I can handle."

          "You and Michael okay?" he asked, with good reason.

          Michael and I had been together maybe a month now since he had come to Los Angeles, a month after we had met in England. I loved him for standing by me, for going through exactly what I was going through now, for seeing eye to eye with me. But he always seemed to be holding something back. There seemed to be a wall I couldn't get through. And I lied to myself, and we were mostly happy anyway, but it nagged me. We'd had a fight a few days ago. In some dark corner of my mind I was wondering if we could hold out.

          "I suppose," is all I said.

          "You want to talk about it?"

          "There's not much to talk about."

          "Okay," my partner replied, "but I'm here anyway."

          "I know." I was going through my cell phone's address book, checking phone numbers to see if I had missed anyone. It was mostly work contacts, but it was worth a shot if it meant I spotted the one person we were looking for. "And I appreciate that, you know. But let's handle this first." Obviously, I wouldn't be returning to Division today. I had phoned Mason, then Jack, explaining the situation, and I had been given a temporary work release until my affairs were settled with the LAPD. Whatever they were turning out to be.

          Detective Smith was the first one to reappear. "Any luck?" he asked.

          "We've been able to eliminate about a half-dozen names," I said, "but that's not much."

          "Well, at least it's progress." Sergeant Friday was holding the autopsy report, skimming it. "Two shots from a Sig 40, missed the heart on both tries but came pretty close." He looked over at his partner. "Obviously not an expert."

          "That bodes well for most of my coworkers then," I said, and meant it. If any of them were the shooter, they'd have made that shot. Sergeant Friday nodded, granting me the point. "Unless they inadvertantly lead the victim to his killer."

          I flinched involuntarily.

          The victim was 37-year-old Chris Fisher, a programmer for a private security firm. A full background check was being done on him now, and they were going to head out to interview his boss and coworkers. They wanted to know if I wanted to come along on an unofficial basis. I stood, figuring this was the best lead any of us had. "I'm up for it," I said. "Lex, you may want to head back. Jack may need you, especially if I won't be there."

          "You sure?" he sounded skeptical.

          "I'm sure. I'll call if I need you." I nodded, trying to convince him everything was all right.

          "Let's go," Sergeant Friday said, and the four of us turned and headed for the main doors of the homicide bullpen. I checked myself for my cell phone and SigArm, finding I still had both. Hopefully, I wouldn't need either of them, especially the latter. But this is Los Angeles. You have no idea what can happen in Los Angeles. And as it turns out, neither did I.


	4. Farther Down

Uptown Los Angeles 

**En Route**

          Sitting in the back of the police sedan, with the notepad in my inside pocket, I leaned forward with my hands in my lap, pondering. My brain had been going a mile a minute since I realized I didn't know Chris Fisher. I was trying to play Six Degrees of Separation: Who might know him? Who might have had reason to make contact with him? What could have jeopardized him? Unfortunately, since I knew next to nothing about the victim, and wouldn't know if CTU had a make until Lex phoned me back after searching our network, I wasn't getting very far.

          "You doing okay back there?" Detective Smith asked me without turning around from the driver's seat. 

I glanced up at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. "I'm doing all right."

"Just trying to figure things out," Sergeant Friday read my mind. 

"Yeah, pretty much," I said. "It's my job. It's what I do."

He chuckled. "That's what we do around here."

Detective Smith parked the sedan and the three of us stepped out, Sergeant Friday taking the lead as senior officers do (a matter of protocol that doesn't change among government agencies, apparently). Glass Curtain Security was Chris Fisher's employer, a private firm and a small one, so I suspected CTU probably hadn't contracted out. Detective Smith held the door for Sergeant Friday and myself, and we walked into a decently sized but spacious-looking office. Upon production of our warrant cards, the chief of operations was summoned by a rather unnerved secretary. He kind of reminded me of Victor Garber, which was disturbing. That man is scary.

"Detectives, what can I help you with?" he said, matter-of-fact and quite possibly one of the first people not to stare at me or do a double take when I'm standing there.

"We're investigating the murder of one of your employees," Sergeant Friday explained. "Chris Fisher was murdered this morning."

"My God, that's why he didn't come in." As if to explain, the boss, whose name was Patrick Gabriel, added, "When he was late, I had Patricia phone his apartment and she didn't get any answer." Patricia must have been the freaked secretary. I hung back and observed, not crossing any territorial lines, although Detective Smith seemed to be doing much the same. Listening and observing had saved me more than once, and I had a feeling we came from the same school of education.

"We're going to have to ask you some questions about Mr. Fisher, and we'd like a copy of his personnel file as well, if that's possible," Sergeant Friday was saying.

"Of course it's possible," Gabriel said, leading us into his office. What he told us was basically what you heard all the time: Chris Fisher had seemed perfectly fine until his death, to his knowledge didn't have any problematic dealings, and seemed to be a great person. I listened through it all, hoping for something more than just the usual. Something to get me out of this. Finally, the interview was concluded and we headed back to the car.

"By the book," Sergeant Friday spoke my mind for me.

"Did anyone else think he was going to say Peter Gabriel?" Detective Smith said, and I nodded. "For a minute there. But what I want to see is what Fisher was working on."

Sergeant Friday looked over at me as I reached for my door handle. "Where are you going with this?"

"About a month ago we had a security breach. Our security specialist did a runner." I leaned against the car and recounted the Michelle Dessler story. "Turns out she was working on a highly sophisticated virus that had gotten into our computers. She'd found it and didn't know how to handle it, and she was so scared about making a wrong move that she took the virus and ran, hoping to find a solution and make amends." 

"Pardon me if I say that's not what happened here."

"Maybe not to that extreme, but maybe the base motives are the same." I looked at the both of them, trying to assess their take on the situation. "But we won't know without some extra digging."

"We'll negotiate that with Mr. Gabriel."

As I was getting into the car, my cell phone rang. I checked to see who the call was from. It was from work. I answered it immediately. "Frederick, go ahead."

"It's me." Lex sounded like he had something for me. "I called up Mason, got him to do a Division-level unlock for me, and I searched our databases."

"And you got a hit?" I said hopefully.

"Unfortunately, no." He sounded disappointed about that. "But I got another call, confirming a meeting you have on campus tomorrow afternoon?"

"Oh, yeah. It's okay, that's not related."

"All right then. Are you coming back in tonight?"  
  


"Probably just to turn around and leave. I'm sorry about leaving you with everything." 

"It's okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then." I hung up and leaned back in my seat, letting out a long breath. "That was my partner. CTU databases don't have anything on Chris Fisher."

"There goes that connection then." Sergeant Friday paused. "We start going down the list."

I nodded, consenting to have my life torn wide open.

I left Robbery Homicide when the detectives did later that night. We didn't have many leads. I'd been able to knock another name or two off the list but for every name I eliminated I usually came up with another I'd accidentally omitted. I was exhausted, overexpended, and not feeling my best. It would be good to go home, take a shower and go straight to bed. Compared to this, I missed my actual job, which was ironic because my actual job was much harder than this.

Detective Smith offered to drive me back to Division, and it was about all I could do to stay awake in the passenger seat.

"A long day?" he said.

"You could say that. I was up at 5:45 this morning, working a shift at Division before you called. And I have class tomorrow, so I'll probably be working late." 

"Class?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm a full-time college student. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 8:30 to 3:45. It'll take me another hour or so to drive back up to L.A. I can swing by if you're still going to be on shift by then."

"Don't worry about it. We'll pick up on Wednesday." He swung the car into the Division parking lot. "Besides, it sounds like you've got a lot going on in your life already."

"Definitely," I said, then told him I'd see him Wednesday, found my car keys, and walked across to my car. Everyone, including Mason, had probably gone home, so there wasn't any reason to stop in. I just stuck the keys in the ignition, sat there for a moment turning the heater up and the radio down, and set on my way. When I made it home forty-five minutes later, I never said a word, just passed out. I wouldn't sleep that well tonight.


	5. Hang On To Me

The Dome 

**Cal State San Marcos**

          The Mountain Dew was starting to kick in, the sugar perking me back up. I had been lethargic all morning and Leticia had noticed that I wasn't the same. But thankfully I would be missing my daily dose of necessary aspirin by ditching my problematic women's studies course, which I always left pissed, to handle this meeting.

          I looked across the table at Derek Barnes. He could have been Detective Smith's younger brother, though obviously he wasn't; he did have an identical twin brother, Adam, who had supposedly killed himself, from Derek's provided backstory. According to Derek's story, he had taken up his brother's cause of paranormal investigation, along with a team of friends. That's why they'd contacted me. Somehow rumors about my involvement with Code Fives had gotten out, though Derek didn't know the half of it.

          "I am _so_ not awake this morning," I said by way of explanation.

          "Late night?" Derek said, offering a smile.

          I nodded. "I was working with the LAPD on a homicide case."

          "Ouch."

          "Yeah. Anyway, you want to know about the Code Fives." I corrected myself. "The vampires." I was okay saying this because there was nobody around. Usually I kept my mouth shut, but Derek Barnes seemed to be a good guy. He nodded. I elaborated. "The official term is Code Five. The rules are different, throw them all out the window. They're emerging in London and a cell of them tracked one of the British government's agents here to L.A. We think we got them all, but we don't know for sure." That was, of course, the highly abbreviated version.

          "You've fought them though."

          "Yeah, twice. Both times I got pretty well beaten up for it." I took another long drink. "The thing you have to understand about this is that the rules that we believe – stakes, crosses, holy water – are all wrong. Well, except for the holy water. The hunter they tracked, Michael Colefield, he's a veteran, he knows the rules. I know him pretty well, and he taught me everything. It's not as easy as myths and legends make it out to be."

          "Tell me about it," he said, "I've discovered enough of that in my short time on the freaky side."

          "Michael hasn't told me much about the current status of things out here," I elaborated. "If you really want to get involved with this, I can try to keep you in the loop, but I'm not that much in it myself." This was true; Michael had kind of shut me out about the status of the invasion in L.A., presumably not to get me freaked out or to divide my focus. If there was instant action necessary I'd be there with my vampire-hunting gun just as quickly as I'd be on the CIA lines with my SigArm, but I think he was still trying to keep me out of that part of his world.

          "Anything we can do to help."

          "How long are you in town?"

          "Just a couple of days, taking a vacation. Lan wants to see some things in L.A. and Jason is determined to go back to Universal Studios, or something."

          "All right, well, you have my contact information. I'm actually on release to help on that homicide right now, so try my cell phone first. And I have your number so I'll call if I can find out anything. We'll meet again in a day or two." I checked my watch. "And I have humanities class in twenty minutes."

          We stood and shook hands again. Derek was much more my contemporary than anybody else I'd dealt with and it showed. He was only twenty-seven, although I think Detective Smith was only twenty-eight or twenty-nine. But the thing that stuck was the attitude that made him much closer to my age, except for a few tinges of haunted maturity. He was an unlikely candidate for involvement with the fight against the invasion, but I liked him. We said goodbye and I headed on my way to class.

          Still drinking steadily from my Mountain Dew bottle (the medium sized one as always), I walked into class and sat down next to Leticia at the end of the first row.

          "Feeling better?" she asked.

          "Yeah, I'll be okay."

          I leaned back in my chair as Professor Berghof walked in and said something about us watching another video. He had this thing for showing these videos from decades ago with a British lecturer by the name of James Burke who was downright annoying. When we had all been in class together the prior semester, Leticia, myself and a friend of ours, Sean, had spent the whole time mocking him. Sean did a pretty good impersonation of James Burke.

          The video was about industrialization, as had been the last one we had watched where he'd made us do some weird thing with circles (or "feedback loops" as he called them); we hadn't understood a damn word he was saying and just copied down what he wrote on the board. Thankfully there weren't any special instructions this time so I resorted to more caffeine and trying to keep my thoughts in line. If they wandered, I knew exactly where they'd go.

          Berghof was in the middle of saying something when I heard a slight clicking noise; I didn't know what it was but it made me a little nervous. I put my head down on my binder. I was tired and I probably just needed a nap.

          The sound of the single bullet barely missing my head probably sounded much louder than it was. It slammed into the white board in front of me, and I dove under the table on instinct, dragging Leticia with me, though everybody seemed to know to duck and cover, and ostensibly to quit screaming and shut up. Berghof examined the hole for a second out of shock, but then eventually he dropped for cover too. It was scarily like my nightmare from the previous day.

          I was searching my jacket, though I knew I wouldn't find my gun. I did, however, have my phone, and I grabbed for it desperately.

          "Everybody _stay down_!" a voice commanded, and I knew that voice. It was Sergeant Friday's voice. What the hell the cops were doing here I didn't know, but damn did they have good timing. I looked to Leticia and tried to insist everything would be okay, my back up against the inside of the table, my heart pounding. I felt trapped, and technically I was. I waited for responding fire…

          "Are you okay?" Detective Smith was suddenly kneeling at my side, still holding his gun. I hadn't even seen him show up, so when he put his hand on my arm and started talking I nearly jumped. Then I recovered and just slowly nodded.

          "Okay. We need to get you out of here. Stay with me." He grabbed my hand and pulled me up, I grabbed my backpack on instinct, and the two of us carefully advanced on the door. I had never been happier to see that door in my life. Sergeant Friday, who was covering us, slowly lowered his weapon. "It's obvious she was the target," he said. "They're gone."

          I nodded though I was scared, not liking being shot at. I'd never actually been directly shot at before, although I had been in some gun situations. As Sergeant Friday was telling everyone it was okay and they could get up now, Detective Smith lead me out the door and around the corner so I could lean against the wall and try not to hyperventilate. "It's okay," he kept repeating. "It's okay."

          "How did you get here?" I got out between scared breaths.

          "We were coming to get you because we found something. And we heard the shot." He was being extremely patient with me, an approach that I knew well because I'd been trained in crisis counseling myself. "Don't worry about that now. We're going to get you back to the precinct. Backup's on its way and they'll take care of everything. Is there anything you need?"

          I shook my head. Sergeant Friday emerged from the classroom and gave orders to some uniformed officers coming up the rear access way from the main university stairs below University Hall. Then he gave a silent nod to Detective Smith and the two of them began leading me toward the parking lot. I realized my cover was blown. You didn't just get shot at and claim it was because you had an overdue library fee. I would have some explaining to do. But right now I could barely stand to think of the consequences.

          I just wanted to close my eyes and have it all be over. But life is never that easy. Sometimes it is this hard.


	6. Still I Rise

Homicide Division 

**Los Angeles Police Department**

**Los Angeles**

          I was still shaking. It's a nervous habit of mine. Whenever I get scared, I start shaking and it usually takes me a while to quit. I had been wide awake on the drive up, like I had just been jarred out of a nightmare (and maybe I had). Detective Smith had set me up in a vacant interview room with a soda, giving me some time to myself to get together and relax. He was sympathetic, suggesting to me that he wasn't too far removed, which was a good trait to have in a cop and a sign that I could trust him. That was slightly comforting as I exhaled.

          Trying to figure out what was going on in my mind, a Black Lab song popped into my head. The first time I had heard it, it had inspired memories of sacrifices made for the right thing and dealing with those. Now it just kind of told me to shut up and just deal. 

          There was a knock on the door and Detective Smith stepped in. I stood as he entered, studying me. "How are you doing?" he said softly.

          I exhaled again. "I'm not going to get any better."

          "Seriously, take all the time you need."

          "Somebody's trying to kill me. The only way I get clear of it is stopping them. Blunt, I know, but hey." I shrugged. "Let's do this thing."

          He smirked at my response. "All right."

          I walked across the room to the threshold of the door he was holding open for me by leaning against it, stood there for a moment, and crossed the line. With Detective Smith following, I went from the darkness to the light, heading for their desks, Black Lab still playing along in my mind.

_Wash it in the sea, let it soak all night_

_Wash it in the sea, let the saltwater wash it away_

_Soak it in bleach till it's white on white_

_Soak it in bleach till the blood just washes away_

"Where do we go from here?" I asked Sergeant Friday, leaning forward, palms flat on Detective Smith's desk. I'd slipped into the crisis mode my psychological defenses put up in event of some big catastrophe at work. I'd say being shot at was a big thing. "What can I do?"

          He seemed appreciative of my commitment. "The first thing we do is make sure that you're safe. Then we try to figure out who wanted both you and Chris Fisher dead."

_Hang it in the wind, let it blow all night_

_Hang it up high, let the high wind blow it away_

_Hang it in the wind, let the sun burn bright_

_Hang it in the wind till the blood just washes away_

I was going to move, but Detective Smith was sitting on the edge of his desk so I dropped into his chair, producing my copy of the list from my jacket pocket and tossing it dismissively on the desk. "Maybe they didn't," I said randomly. "Maybe they just came after me because they saw the card."

          "Maybe, but there's still a reason why and even that's a chance we can't take." His eyes darted to his partner. "See what you can do about getting her some protection."

          I thought about protesting – surely Lex could have stayed over, or I could have gone with Jack and Kim (I omitted Michael since we weren't in the best state at the time), but then I thought better. Sergeant Friday knew what he was doing and he knew where I worked, and he wanted a cop on it for a reason. Plus, Lex, though a good fighter (we'd fought together in the Code Five takedown), didn't have a combat specialty. And did I really want to risk Kim's life, if this guy came after me again? No way.

          Instead, I just nodded. "Okay, so what do we do?"

          "You like that question, don't you?"

          "Yeah, when I'm involved. Part of being an administrator is you know what everyone's doing." I shrugged slightly. "Is there any report from the University?"

          "The slug in your white board matches the type of gun that killed Chris Fisher but it's damaged so I doubt we'll get a weapon-to-weapon match. We followed the trajectory to the second level of University Hall, but there's nothing there except a hole big enough to shoot through. CSI's still checking." He paused. "How did you know to duck?"

          "I don't know, I just did." I paused. "You'll think it's crazy, but this morning I had a daydream about a virtually similar situation. It's probably just instincts."

          "Well, they're good."

          "Not good enough or we'd catch this guy. Or woman." I sighed. 

          "We will."

_Say what about this wasted fear?_

_How can I just turn and wash it away?_

_If I can, then I will, wash it away_

_If she can, then she will, wash it away_

I picked up the list again and took a glance at it. Since there was an officer team on campus, they'd been given instructions to contact the one campus professor on my list: Stephen Cox, my first-semester History 131 instructor. Everybody else was mostly from work. The London team, or the London part of the London team, had been eliminated last night as we were quite sure this was a domestic incident. I found myself wishing Oliver could back me up. But this was something I had to do…

          "It's taken care of," Detective Smith said, coming back into the picture.

          Sergeant Friday nodded. "Let's start running names through."

          Just then, their lieutenant, a veteran woman whose name I couldn't remember, approached us. "Your witness is here."

          "Professor Cox?" I said, standing and turning round. "Great, let's get it done." Needless to say, I was saying that because it was probably all over campus that I'd nearly been killed this morning, and my History professor would be the first person who would end up involved in the fallout. The first of many. The truth was that the wall I'd made for myself between college life and professional life was coming down and it's a kind of wall you can't put back up.

_I have waited wasted lives_

_I have waited long enough I'd say_

_Send me an angel, send me the ghost that I was_

_That I was, that I am_

I looked into Professor Cox's eyes and saw the surprise briefly flash, the recognition. He knew me and he wanted to know what I was doing there. If only it were easy to tell him the real truth, which it was except for in my own mind. Detective Smith, Sergeant Friday and I met him halfway, and I let them take the lead, suddenly so nervous.

          "I'm Sergeant Friday, this is my partner, Detective Smith," Sergeant Friday informed him, "and you already know this young woman."

          "I do." Professor Cox, for his part, looked composed. "I'm assuming this is about the shooting that took place about two hours ago?"

          "Yes." I cleared my throat. "It was me they were aiming for."

          "Brittany, dear God…" 

          I cut him off. "It'll require some explaining, Professor. We'll get you settled in." As we lead him toward the interview room I looked over at Detective Smith. "I don't know if I can do this."

          "You okay? You said your job wasn't deniable… you said he knows…"

          "It's not, and he does, but what would you say to somebody you respect?" I let out a long deep breath. "Not like I have a choice." 

          The two of us walked into the room and I bit the bullet, per se. It was time for the truth to come out and for me to stop living in a Robert Harris novel. "Professor Cox, I have to tell you something. The reason people were trying to kill me today probably has something to do with my job. Somebody was killed with my business card on his person. Either I'm the reason, or I'm the blowback."

          "The what?"

          "The ballistics term for fallout." I paused. "I'm sorry for getting you involved in this, especially when we don't know if this person is going to target anyone near me…"

          "Brittany, the important thing to me is that you're safe and that this person is stopped."

          "We're working on that now, sir." I didn't feel much better, but at least it was done.

          "What can I do to help?"

          I paused. "You can tell me if you told anyone else about my real job…"


	7. Live Fast, Die Young

Home Base 

**San Marcos**

He hadn't told anyone else.

          I had wrapped up the interview feeling dejected, trying to find a way to get a next lead. Was this my fault in some sense? Detective Smith and Sergeant Friday were veteran officers and I was wondering if I was getting in their way by insisting on working with them on the case team, not to mention the responsibilities I'd neglected. With the work shift over at six, after a lot more list-reviewing and some throwing around of theories, I'd grabbed my jacket and decided I needed to either contribute or get out of the way.

          I spotted Detective Smith getting ready to go and he glanced over at me. "You ready?"

          "Yeah. Shouldn't you be heading out?"

          "We are."

          "I thought you were assigning me a protective detail."

          "I _am_ your protective detail." At the look on my face, he said, "That probably came about because I suggested it and then the lieutenant pointed out that my social life isn't that eventful to begin with."

          "Welcome to my world, Detective." I fished for my car keys. "So I'm guessing you're coming home with me, that is, unless I'm coming home with you."

          "You so wouldn't want to see my apartment. I have this thing, I actually have to clean it first." He accepted the car keys I tossed at him. "Besides, I heard it from your partner that CTU set you up with a pretty good place."

          "Lex?" I laughed thinking of my loyal friend and comrade. "Yeah, they did, but you may want to note that I have a roommate. Don't worry, Leticia's great. She works for the main Agency as a recon specialist and researcher."

          "You meet on the job?"

          "No, we met in high school." I met his surprised look with an explanation that wasn't much of one but was something I had posted in my room. "Eastern philosophy says you'd better start early."

          Now I shoved my keys into the lock, thanking Leticia silently for being smart enough to lock the door even not given the circumstances of the recent events. The living room was lit but she wasn't in it, probably back in her room studying. I dropped my stuff on the coffee table, hung my jacket over the back, and yelled to tell her that I was home. She said she was studying and I nodded knowingly and said I'd leave her to it. Like I had anything worth disturbing her for.

          "I'm starving," I said randomly, "Did you want anything?"

          "What have you got?" Detective Smith said, leaning against the back of my couch.

          "Just about anything. I'm a food freak myself."

          "You wouldn't tell it by looking at you."

          "Apparently I'm just doomed to be small." I shrugged, tossing him a soda and looking over to check my messages. If there were any for me, Leticia usually left them on the machine until I could get to them (she knew I never actually had time to check anymore). There were two of them so I hit the play button, folded my arms on the counter and waited.

          The first one was from Jack, asking if I was okay and if I needed anything, to give him a call. He said he was worried about me. I half-smirked. Jack was always worried about me.

          The second was from Lex and it was slightly more disturbing. He said that there was something he wanted to talk to me about. He didn't like it, whatever it was. My eyes widened slightly and I reached for the handset to call him back. It kind of pissed me off that Michael hadn't called, since I thought he might have heard about the shooting by now. As I dialed I looked over at Detective Smith. "I'm going to figure out what this is."

          "That's what I was going to say," he said, noticing the look on my face. "What?"

          "I was thinking my boyfriend would have called, but I guess not. Then again we're not exactly speaking that much." I rolled my eyes as if to indicate my unhappiness with the situation, and quoted Sam Waterston. "Relationships happen or don't, and you show up for work."

          He laughed at that. Lex picked up at home on the second ring. 

          "What's going on?" I said, trying not to sound nervous, which I was.

          "You ever hear about loyalty tests?" His voice sounded a little hard-edged. 

          "No." But I didn't like the sound of them.

          "They tried one on me at Langley. It's where the Agency sets you up in a lose-lose situation to see if you'll play for the other side. And I think they're pulling one here." He paused. "I don't know for sure but I think they're testing one of us. It could be you, me, Jack, Mason, I'm not sure, but watch your back."

          "I will." I exhaled. "Internal testing? What kind of sick son of a…" I noticed the look on Detective Smith's face and stopped short of completing the phrase. "Keep on it and keep me informed. I've got to work on this case but I don't doubt you for a second."

          "You never do."

          I smiled slightly to myself. "Take care. I'll phone you in the morning," I said, hanging up the phone.

          "What was that about?" 

          "Lex … has the idea that there are loyalty tests being run on people in CTU. That could include me as well. He's checking to see. But if he's right, some of these events could be arranged, or parts of them, I don't know." I sighed. "Damn. Just what I need. Another complication." I was starting to get restless and angry.

          "Why don't you get some sleep?" he suggested, and I nodded. "You going to be okay out here?"

          "I'll manage."

          "If you need anything…" I trailed off, then walked into my room and shut the door. I knew Leticia was studying, but I turned the stereo up loud anyway, needing to get away from here. I pride myself on not running from anything, but things were starting to wear on me. The life of an active agent was so hard, and my life wasn't even mine anymore. I crossed to the bed and stared at the ceiling.

I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore 

_Before you take a swing I wonder_

_What are we fighting for?_

_When I say out loud "I want to get out of this"_

_I wonder is there anything I'm gonna miss?_

The SigArm was in my holster, the Ehrlich was in its lockbox in a drawer and the CIB issue sidearm was under the bed. I owned three guns, for God's sake. I only really needed one. It had been three years since I had joined the Agency, and I had been with CTU all of those three years. I had never actually even taken a gun home with me until about a year ago, never fired one until about four months ago. And I couldn't blame all of that on the world situation…

          It had been my choice, following my London assignment, to become an activated field agent. I could have spent my days just working at my computer. But that would have been impossible. I had now seen the horrors first-hand and I understood the risks. Everything else would be colored by that. Maybe everything else still was, damned if I know.

          The phone rang so I turned the stereo down, but I left it playing. I needed the meaninglessness of it.

_I wonder how's it gonna be_

_When you don't know me_

_How's it gonna be_

_When you know I'm not there_

"Hello?"

          "Brittany, it's Derek."

          "Find anything?"

          "Nothing substantial. You?"

          "Since I'm not speaking to Michael at the moment, no."

          "What happened?"

          "We had a falling-out a few days ago."

          "I'm sorry."

          "Don't be." Personally, I was just waiting for the 'it's over between us' phone call. "Anyway … tell me what you know about psychic phenomena. _Legitimate_ psychic phenomena."

          "I'll look it up. What's going on?"

          "Circumstances and suspicions."


	8. Save The Empire

Later That Night 

Sleep had become a luxury. Basically, I'd given up on it. And even if I'd had the time for it, my worst fears would have kept me awake. I don't like questions without answers.

          Derek and I had talked for about half an hour about psychic phenomena: how it's usually triggered by a severe blow to the head, but can also be triggered by severe emotional or mental trauma. That was a phrase I didn't like, since I'd had a lot of emotional trauma of recent with the, y'know, shooting and being shot at and trying to figure out what to do with my life. He told me he'd look more into it, but I didn't tell him I might be his next case file.

          I was sitting at my computer on the Internet, trying to do some research of my own. Sergeant Friday's question to me earlier in the day had made me realize how quirky it was for me to have daydreamed the situation 24 hours before it happened. I didn't usually default to paranormal explanations, but it was the first one that came to mind. There really isn't a procedural explanation for the precognitive workings of the human mind.

          There was a soft knock at the door and I pulled off my headphones, George Winston's 'Variations on the Canon by Pachelbel' still playing out of them, and glanced up as Detective Smith opened the door and glanced over at me. "Shouldn't you be in bed by eleven?" he asked me, and I nodded, stopping with the typing. "Maybe. But there's no class tomorrow and after today, I don't know if it's safe for me on campus or if anyone else wants me there. Unless you want to chaperone me, and you have better things to do."

          "At least clue me in to what you're doing."

          "Research on some mental acuities." As he came in and sat on the edge of my bed so he could see over my shoulder, I spun in my chair. "Did your partner tell you how I knew when to duck that bullet?"

          "Yeah, he said you had good instincts."

          "Right." I nodded. "I was driving in to work Monday morning and I had a daydream about the whole situation. Except for you rescuing me, of course. That defies explanation, so I thought I'd try to explain it."

          "What explanation is there?"

          "None right now." I turned back to the computer. "But if this is in my head I want to know."

          "What if it's not in your head?"

          "We'll deal with that if and when we get to it."

Starbucks 

**Across the Street from the LAPD Building**

**Los Angeles**

A second meeting had now become absolutely necessary. Given my status on campus, not to mention that it also hadn't been vetted for my safe return by the CTU Internal Investigations Division, I requested that it be held somewhere in L.A. As it turns out there is one of the five billion Starbucks installations across the street from the LAPD's building, and that was where I met Derek for the second time. 

          "What did you find?" I said as he slid into the seat across from me. 

          "Just some notes, nothing much. I'm sorry I couldn't be of further help but our types of encounters are usually much more homicidal and probably fatal." He snickered at this a moment, but paused. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

          "The indications are … that I'm experiencing some kind of psychic reaction."

          "What? Are you serious?"

          "Yeah. You know I was shot at yesterday afternoon?"

          "Yeah, it was all over the news."

          "Well, Monday morning, driving in to work, I had a brief daydream that nearly duplicated the situation. That was how I knew when to duck to avoid the shot. Like a second sight, second instinct. And it gets worse."

          "How?"

          "I've had another."

          "What … what happened?"

          "You want to know about Code Fives? You're gonna get a chance." I felt the blood running in my veins already, a sure sign that I would have a temperature spike, which was my signal that I was nervous. "Because in my vision I fought at least one. That means they're still here, or back here, or … God, I don't know what it means, but it means a violent fight."

          "Isn't there somebody that can handle this?"

          "Two people," I said, putting up two fingers for emphasis. "Michael and myself."

          "You're so kidding, right?" He studied my face. "You're not kidding."

          "The others … Jack, Lex, Leticia, Weiss, Tony, Vaughn, Chris, Steve, et al … helped out in L.A. to smoke out two dozen of them. But we got pounded. This is hardball. It's different." I pounded the table with my fist, feeling more pissed off about this the more I thought about it. "The only thing I can do is get ready."

          "_We_."

          "Excuse me?"

          "I'm not leaving you to get your ass kicked."

          "You don't know me. You aren't ready."

          "Make me ready."

Homicide Division Los Angeles Police Department Los Angeles 

          I pushed through the doors with Detective Smith on my heels, feeling roused. Derek's words had gotten under my skin: I'd have to raise a veritable army of people to fight any incursion, and I'd either need Michael's help or I'd have to start standing on my own. But that was personal, or at least more personal than this. It was time to catch a killer, than we'd deal with a swarm of them. I spotted Sergeant Friday and asked if anything was new.

          "Nothing. Did you eliminate any names?"

          "Yeah, most of them. Either we're getting close to a suspect or a dead end."

          "What about the campus shooting?" Detective Smith chimed in.

          "CSU didn't have much conclusive from there. It was definitely a professional." 

          "Well, I've had three years and two months to make enemies," I said. "Four months to make myself a target. That's a lot of time."

          "You ever consider another line of work?" the sergeant asked.

          "Many, many times in my head." I nodded. "But it's too late for me now."

          Holding the list in my hands I looked at the remaining couple of names: old friends who I had lost touch with after graduation. Chris, Alli, and their families. None seemed culpable suspects. My brain went back to what Lex had said about loyalty tests. If this was the work of my higher-ups in the main Agency, they'd have used a deniable operator or a salaried handler and we would never find a trace, which was the way it was heading. But to prove that, I'd need a link back to the Agency.

          "Okay, the final six names," I finally said, throwing the list back down. "I'll need to make some calls."

          Sergeant Friday looked over at me. "What are you thinking?"

          "That somebody inside my Agency set up a test match." When they didn't get this, I looked primarily to Detective Smith. "That message last night from my partner was giving me information that the higher-ups may be arranging loyalty tests on certain members of CTU. That could include me, and he believes that could include this murder."

          "They'd kill someone to test your loyalty?" Detective Smith seemed stunned.

          "I didn't think so either … but there are factions in the CIA I don't understand." I reached for my cell phone. "That's why I work for CTU. Outside of those walls, you never know what's going on for sure." I left a message for Lex to call me with updated info; he was probably briefing Jack, being my stand-in for these few days. Then I called Michael since I felt he needed to be told about the Code Five situation. That was a big mistake. Yelling at your probably-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend in the middle of a homicide squadroom … I've seen much better days.

          I don't know when I stopped loving him; I don't know if I did. I knew when I fell in love with him that our jobs were difficult and demanding, and we were complex, emotionally raw people, and that it would be a fight to stay together. Except when that fight came it was hard to bear. He seemed to try to keep me out of his fight, and couldn't get in touch with the people that made up mine. It was like living two lives, as if I wasn't doing that already. Maybe it was three lives by now. I just remember feeling blind anger, maybe at him, maybe at me, maybe at everything, and letting him bear the brunt.

          _"Shut up, Michael! Just shut the hell up for a second!"_ I yelled into the phone. "I am telling you what I _think_, not what I _know_. If there's a problem here, we will _handle_ it … I can handle this! No, we've handled this before … Why is this different now? Why is it different? I _know_ you're scared. _I'm scared … Don't try to protect me. It's too late to protect me, Michael. _No, it's too late for that." I clapped the phone shut without even saying goodbye. I knew I was being cold and distant, but the pressure of holding on to him, holding on to my sanity, and doing my job was just too much. Something had to go.

          "What was that about?" Detective Smith asked me after a moment.

          "The end of the world, more or less." I wasn't kidding.


	9. Hurt Before

Homicide Division 

**Los Angeles Police Department**

**Los Angeles**

"Chris is clear, and his family by default." I crossed three names off my list. "There's Allison and her family, and I can't reach them, but they haven't been in town since graduation, and I don't remember for sure if I told her. Which would leave…"

          "Nobody except your employer," Sergeant Friday finished. "Which would be hell to prove."

          "Yeah, except thankfully I have some allies in high places that could help me out." I was waiting for the callback from Lex, and when I got it I was going to ask him to bring Jack and Mason in on the deal. With the two of them on my side, I could probably get Alberta Green reassigned to Toledo if I tried hard enough. "I won't say it's a sure thing, but I trust the people I need to go."

          "Which people?" Detective Smith asked me.

          "My boss and his boss. Special Agent Jack Bauer, Agent In Charge for CTU, and District Director George Mason, Senior District Director for CTU." I exhaled. "They're the ones who might be able to get past the op levels. After that I don't know. If I were on the other end of this I'd use a deniable operator, and that means there's no record of their ever operating for the Agency." I backed away from the white board we'd been using and sat on the edge of Detective Smith's desk, resting my chin on my knuckles. "What bothers me is that my field service record doesn't show any cause for alarm. I work with personnel and I know when a loyalty test might be needed, but I haven't done anything wrong."

          "Maybe you didn't have to," Sergeant Friday hypothesized.

          "Maybe I didn't." I answered my ringing cell phone. "But that's what I'm going to focus on. Lex, tell me you've got something."

          "I briefed Jack this morning. He and Mason are on it right now."

          "Well, that saves step two, which was telling you to get them on it. What do they think? Did they say?"

          "Jack wants to break something and Mason's disgruntled again."

          "I'll take that. Keep me updated the moment something breaks."

          "I always do."

          "And I thank you for that." I hung up, then looked to my police partners. "They're on it already. My partner briefed them and they went into instant action."

          "You've got good superiors, Agent Frederick," Sergeant Friday quipped.

          I smiled slightly. "Yes, sir, I do. But it'll take them most of a day or two to find out the truth."

          Detective Smith nodded. "In that case, why don't you try to get some sleep?"

          I woke up three hours later on the lieutenant's office couch. Thankfully, there hadn't been any nightmares about anything. I hadn't dreamt, period, which was odd because I usually do. Admittedly, sleep made me feel better, or it made me feel less like a paranoid special agent running on empty. If my next act had been to watch another re-airing of _Can't Hardly Wait_ on USA it would've been just like high school, but I stood up, stretched tired limbs, and walked out back onto the floor.

          Detective Smith and Sergeant Friday had been busy since I'd been passed out. They had the white board not covered with a list of names that didn't mean anything anymore, but possible angles as to how and why the situation could've gone down. This included both scenarios with me either being the catalyst or the blowback to the Chris Fisher murder. I sure hoped as hell that I was the blowback, not for my own cleanliness of conscience, but just to think that his death hadn't been just some statistic somewhere, destined to fade into a land where there couldn't be justice for his fatality.

          "Feeling any better?" Detective Smith asked, reaching over to his desk to grab another sheet of wire copy.

          "Define better," I quipped. "Okay, slightly better."

          "Good."

          "What have you got?"

          "Theories and more theorizing."

          "That's where all good research starts, right?" I continued, walking over to join both men and observe the board. "Well, social research at least."

          "And what are you studying?"

          "Criminal justice and criminology. It used to be my minor back when I was a communications major, but when I abandoned all hope of a normal life four months ago I switched over." I smirked slightly. "Don't be too surprised."

          "You're showing me you can never be too surprised," he said, handing me a dry erase marker.

          On the way home, I took Derek home with me. Looking over my shoulder the whole way home, I explained to him the seven principal rules of engagement against Code Fives, the same seven rules Michael had explained to me and the CTU squad only two months ago. Knowing Michael, now that he knew, he would either alert the CIB team back in London or he would choose to handle the matter himself, and he would be interference. I had to get things moving before they got complicated and that included educating my allies. Derek seemed to take this in stride, but then again his eyes told me he'd seen a hell of a lot, including his supposedly dead twin brother.

          The apartment looked small: a kitchen/living room, two bedrooms and a bathroom. It's not really that small. There's a door in my room everybody thinks goes to a closet, but it actually goes to a workout room. That had been Leticia's idea when it became apparent that she would be witnessing some truly spectacular kickings of my ass as well as some hopefully stellar ass-kickings on my part. I thanked her for that a lot, because I usually trained every Wednesday and Sunday night. While Detective Smith looked some stuff up on my computer, I opened the door and showed Derek the hidden realm.

          If he was going to fight these guys he'd have to be ready, and I could stand being sharper myself. Since Leticia was working late tonight I had the ability to turn AC/DC up as loud as I wanted, which I promptly did. This song I had heard somewhere in _Empire Records_ and it just screamed slaying anthem. On that note, Derek and I got to work. He was a fast learner without that much to learn, having lived dangerously for some time now, but you could never learn enough to take on the night. I figured that out when I was bleeding in the passenger seat of a Toyota.

There ought to be a law 

_There ought to be a whole lot more_

_Tell me who can you trust_

_If you want blood, you got it_

_If you want blood, you got it_

_Blood on the streets, blood on the rocks_

_Blood in the gutter, every last drop_

_You want blood, you got it_

_Yes you have_

_It's animal_

_Feeling like a Christian_

_Locked in a cage_

_Thrown to the lions_

_On a second's rage_

_Blood on the rocks, blood on the streets_

_Blood in the sky, blood on the sheets_

_If you want blood, you got it_

_I want you to bleed for me_

_If you want blood, you got it_

I'm not made to be a hero. I was sweating, and pummeling the punching bag for nine minutes straight – two plays of that song – had hurt my knuckles pretty good (although I had been hitting it harder than usual in an attempt to take out my frustration). I forced air into gasping lungs and tried to corral my increasing heart rate. As a fighter, that was my weakness: I needed to be able to shut down physically as I could mentally, and just acquire my target.

          I looked across at Derek, who had been going after the other bag with a pretty good vengeance. Something told me he'd only improve with a weapon in his hands, from the stories he'd told about being able to use anything as a weapon. That was a tenet of combat I'd tried to learn myself. Guns jam and devices break. In the end, all you have is yourself and anything you can get your hands on, and Derek seemed to know that. He was developing a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, but his eyes were daring me to keep going. 

          Nodding to him, I stepped out of the room and back into my bedroom. At my computer, Detective Smith shot me a glance.

          "What the hell are you two doing?"

          "Getting ready for the fight. There's going to be one, you know." I figured not telling him about the Code Fives would be a good idea. He might believe me because it was me, but he wouldn't accept the idea for sure, so I bypassed that. Instead, I reached under my bed, felt a rubber grip, and grabbed the object in question before heading back to the training room.

          Derek was waiting for me. I didn't actually say anything, just walked over and handed him my gun. He knew what to do with it. We all knew what to do with it. The question is if you can remember when somebody's lunging right at you. That, you never figure out until it happens. But something told me Derek had already figured out the answer I had missed. Maybe he might save a life instead of costing one.

          We didn't have much time left to find out which, and he knew it.


	10. Double Blind

Home Base 

**San Marcos**

          There was a knock at the bathroom door and it opened soundlessly. I turned, still holding the Neosporin tube in one hand.

          "Hey, you're home."

          "Yeah." Leticia nodded. "What did you do to yourself now?"

          "Uh, I cut myself on some of the equipment. I'll be fine, I swear."

          "All right." She sounded mirthfully unconvinced, and I smirked despite myself. She continued, "So explain to me what exactly is going on now?"

          "The murder case is probably linked to somebody higher-up in the CIA who thinks I'm a defection risk. And, oh, by the way, I think there might be another Code Five invasion going on, so I'm trying to train some people to become permanent slayers." I tried to say this like it didn't matter to put her at ease but it never worked (for me at least). The truth was I could band together the same group of people who helped me the last time, and they'd be willing and effective, but many of them had high-level jobs that involved field duty (whereas mine didn't mandate it). They had other responsibilites. CIB agents would need to be able to balance those responsibilities or not have to balance them at all.

          And as if I didn't know it already, I was definitely consigning myself to a lifetime of public service and giving up my dreams of filmmaking by moving forward. Once I headed up this CIB cell, once I returned to work at CTU, I was locked in. There wasn't any turning away from these responsibilities in a month or a few months; I was building a career. This may be what I chose, but it wasn't who I am. It still isn't, I don't think, not at heart. But part of the work is knowing to ignore the voice in the corner that says you're making a mistake, in order to listen to the cries of your better angels. One of whom was still talking to me.

          Leticia just paused a moment and then asked, "Is there anything you need?"

          "No, we're fine." I said 'we' because Detective Smith was still in my bedroom and Derek was still on our couch. She told me she'd be in her room again, and I finished washing up and headed back to the living room. My three-hour nap was really starting to wear off on me, but I was still overthinking. That's my biggest vice: I constantly overthink. Some people call it 'intelligence,' some people call it 'belligerance,' I call it 'complicating stupidity.'

          Derek looked up as I approached. "What happens next?"

          "We need to get you some backup," I said. "And I need to exonerate myself from this homicide case but other than that, it's mostly about getting other people involved. We had six people in one room and another half dozen or so outside on a perimeter and it was still a close fight, so we'll need some help obviously."

          "I can call in the team any time."

          "Whenever you think it's appropriate," I replied. "I'm going to look up some of the guys who fought with me in the last battle and see if they're available, but they may be our last best hope, per se." I tossed him the phone in silent approval, then grabbed another lifesaving Mountain Dew from the fridge and walked back into my bedroom, where Detective Smith had finished his research some time ago and was now just trying to connect the pieces.

          Though not related, he and Derek shared one characteristic beyond just a vague resemblance: an intensity when they focused. Both of them, when they were locked into something, looked the part and couldn't be dissuaded. That was the kind of front-line dedication that I respected. I'd gotten to work with a lot of people, but as I'd learned, not all of them were all they were made out to be, or even wanted to be, for that matter.

          "How's it going?" I said quietly.

          He looked over at me. "I'm just trying to back up your theory."

          "It's going to be hard to do that."

          "I have to try, at least." He exhaled. "And if you hadn't come along…"

          "This would have been so much easier?"

          "That's not what I was going to say."

          "I don't know, does Sergeant Friday think I'm crazy?"

          "Joe? Maybe for getting started at the age of 14, but not for your dedication."

          I started to say something, but then the phone rang. Putting my soda down next to my computer monitor, I turned and leaped onto my bed, tucking and rolling until I came up next to the phone and was able to grab it cleanly on the second ring. Ignoring Detective Smith's piqued look, I answered with my traditional, "Go ahead."

          "It's me again."

          "Lex? What's up?"

          "We're almost there."

          "Then it's true?"

          "Mason thinks he's found the operator."

          "Who?"

          "Teddy Hanlin."

          "That bastard!" I blurted. "I've always hated him."

          "I hated him on reputation," Lex quipped, never having worked with the annoying agent before, "but if he's Alberta's operator we've got a lock on her. Even if he's deniable, all we have to do is get him to give her up and correlate proof back to him. We'll probably hang her in the blowback and even if we don't, you're off the hook."

          "God, I love you."

          "Yeah, tell it to me tomorrow."

          "No, I mean it, you've saved my ass. And good timing too."

          "How's that?"

          "There could be another C5 incident."

          "What?"

          "Just a suspicion."

          "Still…"

          "I'll let you know. And let me know."

          "Always."

          I hung up the phone and sat there cradling it for a moment. Detective Smith looked over his shoulder at me, then eventually turned the whole chair around. "What was that all about?"

          "Lex believes they found the deniable operator used to commit the Fisher murder."

          "Are you serious?"

          "My partner's the best, Detective Smith. If he says it, I believe it." I checked the alarm clock by my bedside. "Anyway, I'm going to shower and call it a night. Is there anything you need?"

          "Maybe you could slap me so I'm sure I'm awake."

          "I don't think so," I said, chuckling dryly.

          When I went to bed half an hour later, I felt like I was back for good. The Chris Fisher homicide was about to be closed. I would no longer be in fear for my life (from that, anyway). My friends would find justice anyway. I had allies to work with in the impending storm. Never mind about my cover being blown – that could be handled in time. But as for immediate, pressing concerns, I found none.

          That was when the next dream vision hit me.

          I woke up ten minutes later and sat there silent in the darkness, shell-shocked, for another twenty.

          Michael and I were through, and he was gone.


	11. Soul Sacrifice

Home Base 

**San Marcos**

          I silently walked out to the living room and stood there in the kitchen, taking long drinks of caffeine and trying not to shatter in a million pieces on my floor.

          For all the screaming, fighting and not speaking Michael and I had done over the last few days it didn't change what I felt when I met him. I always felt that he understood me on some base level, the way that only people with the same sacrifices can ever understand what it means to live like that. I always believed in his wounded charisma, his vulnerable sympathy, in the way that he swapped parts of the self with the person he was in touch with, giving up a piece of his life while getting into their very soul. At least, he'd gotten into mine. I could recall his words of encouragement, the feeling that the pressure of a lifetime lived twice but passed once was off my shoulders.

          Why would it all end like this? I wanted to demand an answer, but I knew there wouldn't be one. Maybe it wasn't over; maybe we would reconcile at some point beyond the end of the vision. But I knew certain truths about our relationship. Though we felt for each other, we'd both been hurt. We both had our own complex problems to solve and demons to exorcise, not to mention the other person's battles and conflicts. My solution to this was to lose myself in someone else, to find my happiness in their happiness and let go of myself. His solution was to make sure nobody else had to feel what he felt. Constantly those approaches conflicted. That's why we'd fought days ago, and I assumed why he would leave me now.

          He had to know that the choice was drastic. He had left me be in the wake of London and I had resented him for it a lot. We'd barely spoken on the day that he arrived and only defrosted when we were looking death in the face and we both acted like adults and admitted we'd made mistakes. But initially his presence had been like a stake to me, like a poison, like a punishment. Like he felt he could just walk in and out of my life because I was somehow junior to him in something other than age. That wasn't so, but he had to know that repeating the same action would lead to the same cycle of pain and suffering and miscues and mistrust.

          I put my head on my forearms and quietly let myself cry the tears.

Into you so far the words go  
So much clearer then you hear  
Into you goes everything I know  
No one else knows how I feel

          I could call him, but what would be the point? Maybe I would, later, but it would just be admitting that it was all wrong, and then we would have to talk about it and it would be painful to discuss. Heart-wrenchingly, earth-shatteringly hard. So this is what it was like to lose yourself to someone and be hurt for it. This was what it was like to die for love. The silence spoke the words I'd never quite be able to form as I felt the wounds opening already.

          The temperature around me had dropped at least a dozen degrees, probably due to some odd combination of the weather, the cold soda I was knocking back, and the fact that I had gone numb somewhere inside. Michael had always taught me it was okay to feel something in our line of work, that stoicism was just a defense mechanism. All I felt was emptiness. He had gotten me to commit to this career, he had gotten me involved in CIB and the fight against the Code Fives, singlehandedly altering my destiny. Either he was the catalyst I needed or I was incredibly stupid for going so far in the name of love that now wasn't much of love at all.

          I put the soda back in the fridge and just stood there. If I went back to bed I'd have dreams or memories or something. If I stayed awake, I'd torment myself about mistakes and miscues and shortcomings. I was in a lose-lose situation, except this wasn't a loyalty test: this was life. Loyalty gives back what you put into it. Which said what about the loyalty I'd given Michael, and that he had shown me? I let myself cry and I honestly didn't know when it would stop.

_  
Farther down I'm desperate for you  
Where you never have to know  
Farther down I'm still without a clue  
Till something, something takes my pain away_

Ten minutes or so went by where I wondered what the hell I was doing with my life.

          "You okay?"

          I wiped mist out of my eyes, couldn't form words, and I think Derek figured that out. "You don't look okay," he answered his own question. "Was it another…"

          My nod cut him off, and I swallowed hard, struggling for the sentence. "Yeah, it was."

          "What happened?" His voice was soft and I know he was thinking of the e-mail that he'd gotten with the file from his supposedly dead brother. It changed his life and I bet on nights like this he wishes he'd never opened it. I think we all face those choices and that's why he didn't call me just lost.

          "Michael … the guy I'm in this relationship with … it's over between us. He's leaving me." I sucked in a deep breath and tried not to lose it in front of a CIB candidate, especially one that had decided to risk his life and his friends' lives only on rumors about the pending problems. He deserved better.

          "I'm sorry." He put his hand on my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of habit. "Is there anything I can do?"

          "I don't know. Right this moment I don't feel like I know anything."

          Derek nodded sympathetically. When his brother died he'd been engaged to a girl named Chloe. Chloe had been horribly distraught and was now a member of Derek's team, largely because she too wanted to know what happened to his brother and her fiance. I expected he'd done a lot of grief counseling in his life. "You want to talk about it?" he offered.

          "I don't know how coherent I'm going to be."

          "It doesn't matter."

          Why I believed him, I don't know. I just needed someone to believe.

_  
Only chance can change my fortune  
So I'm not sure why I try  
As if I could swim the ocean  
As if you could start to fly_

"Tell me the story," Derek said when we'd sat down on the couch together and I'd been able to pull enough of my emotions back together to remain generally focused although disturbingly unsettled.

          "It's a long story."

          He shrugged. "So is mine."

          In that, he had a point. Resignedly now, each word feeling painful because it dredged up a memory that hurt like hell, I told him all of it in the shortest version possible: how I had met Michael in London, how he hadn't bothered to contact me at all (although part of it was due to deception), and how he had shown up in my life with his ambiguous situation. How I had taken him back, how I had understood we would be tried but happy, except it hadn't turned out that way; how the fight we had gotten into seemed to tell us both that this was a different kind of thing that maybe we weren't ready for. The whole complex, angst-filled, moment-to-moment existence.

          I searched his face for a reaction. "Those things happen," he said after a moment. "Not because of one person or the other … just because there's too much else in the world pushing down on both of them to make them be able to let go." Sensing my initial reaction, he continued, "That doesn't mean you're doomed for life. It just means maybe you're not ready yet."

          "I just … I can't stand being alone. It terrifies me."

          "You're not that alone, if you think about it." 

          "That's what he used to tell me."

          "Because he was right. You're fighting two wars at once and it's like living two lives. But that means you've got a lot of people on your side, right?"

          "It's right … but somehow it doesn't make a difference."

          "It will. In time."

_  
Farther down I'm desperate for you  
Where you never have to know  
Farther down I'm still without a clue  
Till something, something takes my pain away  
Something takes my pain away  
Something takes my pain away_

I looked over at Derek. "Is this where you tell me time heals all the wounds?"

          "No." He chuckled. "It doesn't."

          "I didn't think so."

          "But you've still got to go on living anyway."

          I nodded, more to myself. Everything he was saying was something I could probably have said to myself in a few days, a week, a few weeks, given time and sanity. But I had neither and I needed to hear it from someone else. I needed to be validated again, to know that my relationship with Michael wasn't the only reason I ended up here and the only reason I was still standing. Derek and I looked at each other a long moment, then he suggested I head back to bed. And I listened to him. For once I needed not to be the leader. Maybe tomorrow would be different, but not tonight.

_  
Farther down I'm desperate for you  
Where you never have to know  
Farther down I'm still without a clue  
Till something, something takes my pain away_

I went back to looking at the ceiling.

          Tomorrow the Fisher homicide would close, and Detective Smith and Sergeant Friday would no longer need to fear for my life or worry about me. Alberta Green or at least her lieutenant would be brought to justice for a murder committed for basically no reason at all.

          Tomorrow Derek's team – Jason, Lan and Chloe – would arrive to back him up in case of a Code Five invasion. I would probably recruit some old friends into the mix, and there would be training and preparedness and anal-retentive behavior.

          Tomorrow I would be able to look at my work with a clear conscience and know I could go back to doing what I was meant to do, which was my job and a healthy dose of idealism.

          That was tomorrow, but this … this was tonight.  
  



	12. Fall Away

The Next Day 

And there are some who say there are so many things I need 

_So I run or I fight and I crawl or I scream_

_And I bleed_

I checked myself in my bedroom mirror: black pants and a button-down midnight blue silk shirt, with a tank top underneath if, God forbid, I should get into a brawl. My gun holster hung normally and unoccupied on my waist, and I reached onto the bed for my SigArm and slipped it inside. The pocket attached behind my holster, farther back on my waist, held two clips of ammunition: one standard and one carbon-tipped, again a nod to the unpredictable. I reached behind me again and grabbed my suit jacket, wearing it under my leather jacket today. If things did close and I ended up recalled to Division, I'd have to look the part. My watch was still keeping time, and the only accoutrements I bothered to deal with were the bracelet Chris had given me and my Watcher necklace. I wasn't risking any property damage in any fallout that might occur. But I was ready to go.

          Turning away from the mirror, I grabbed my attache case from the bed. It contained all of my paperwork on everything I'd been doing, and I slung it over one shoulder. My cell phone was inside an interior pocket of my leather jacket made for just that purpose (at least it had a little tag with a picture of a phone), and typical to police procedure, my handcuffs were more to the rear of me than to the side. God knew if I'd need them but I liked to carry them when the possibility of an arrest increased. I started for the bedroom door, only to turn back to grab a pair of lockpicks issued to me from CTU and slide them up my sleeves. Lex told me that there was nothing these things couldn't do. Armed, dressed and prepared, finally, I took a long breath and walked out.

_And there are so many reasons I could give you why I should be down  
There's not enough money or time and my love you're not around_

Leticia was in the kitchen making a light breakfast she'd actually have time to eat, and Derek and Detective Smith were standing by the couch working on orange juice and bagels. I snagged one Leticia had left waiting for me, noticing they were all looking at me. I knew Derek hadn't told, but it was a distinct possibility that either or both of the other two people could have overheard. I swallowed and made my first move to speak.

          "I'm going to go in this morning and wrap this case up, hopefully. Derek, I need you to call your team together and get them briefed, because we'll start training as soon as I get home tonight. Leticia should be here to let you in if I'm not for some reason. Call my partner back at CTU and he'll make arrangements for you to move to a hotel closer to here. He should be able to arrange transportation for you to pick up your stuff and your rental car. I'll be at the Homicide Division for the day, unless circumstances change and then I'll be at Division, so everybody try my cell phone first. And Tisha I need you to find Weiss and make sure that he calls me today."

          Pause.

          "What?"

          "Are you okay?" Leticia asked me.

          "Yeah."

          "You sure?" This from Derek.

_But it's a lie, it's a lie – don't you believe it_

_If you're fine, then you're fine – it's all how you see it_

_You're alive, you're alive – how else could you hear me?_

_You are fine, you are fine – there's nothing worth fearing_

I nodded. "I'm not perfect, but I'm all right. Everybody clear on their responsibilities?" I hate calling them orders. Ordering people about seems a bit condescending especially when they're my partners, not my subordinates. Even though, as Leticia points out, I'm CTU's third highest ranking officer behind Jack and Tony and therefore do have a lot of subordinates. Everybody assented, so I exhaled. "All right. If everything goes according to plan, we should be in the game by the end of play." I looked to Detective Smith. "Are we ready to go?"

          "Yeah, anytime."

          "Let's go." I checked my watch, then hugged everyone goodbye on instinct. "I'll see you all here tonight. Wish me luck."

          "Good luck," Derek said, smirking because I think he still didn't know what had taken me over, but he really wanted to. I used to be that inquisitive once. Circumstances kind of forced me into a more conservative point of view. However I thought he'd never lose that out of himself, which was more points for him that I hadn't gotten. I started for the door. Michael was the last thought on my mind; I had used an old psychological warfare defense and deleted him from my short-term memory. I wasn't going to think about him anymore, not if it would become a liability.

          When love had become a liability you knew things were all up in the air.__

_'Cause I've tried and I've tried and I really can't see it_

_Said I was yours, you were mine, but I didn't really mean it_

_And I lied, and I lied_

_And I wish you hadn't seen it_

_'Cause I'm trapped inside my conspiracy of happiness_

I locked the door behind me on instinct and caught Detective Smith's look. "What?"

          "What happened to you?"

          "I'm a field leader, so I probably should be leading." I paused, then decided to can the rhetoric. "It's a long story. Ask me again tonight. If things go well, I might actually be ready to say it."

          Sergeant Friday was already at his desk when we arrived. I thought he must be more than human, but then again the man is a living legend. Everybody who's even remotely involved with Los Angeles crime and punishment has heard of Joe Friday, except for maybe Sergeant Friday himself.

          "I see you two are getting along," was his comment.

          "Yeah, we haven't killed each other yet," I quipped. "But after tonight you may not need to worry about me. Here's hoping."

          "You caught a break?"

          "A phone call, last night," his partner explained. "One of her superiors at CTU found the guy that they used to execute the hit on Chris Fisher. If they can prove it, and especially if they can link it to the higher-up, it's case closed."

          Sergeant Friday nodded. "But I want him in custody. No internal investigation crap."

          I didn't blame him; the internal investigation after the Palmer-Drazen affair had been botched by Division, which was part of the reason why a position like mine now existed. I nodded. "I'll see what I can do about that once we're sure we have him. I can give you his profile folder now, though, the declassified portions." I produced the faxed copy Lex had sent over last night. "Teddy Hanlin's a CTU sniper. He caused some problems for my boss during the Palmer situation so his animosity toward CTU is probably how they turned him, like he would've needed much help."

          "And it would explain the sniper shot at the back of your head," he replied as he accepted the folder from me. "Although killing someone and then almost killing you seems a backward way of testing your fidelity."

          "There are certain reactionary elements in CTU and the Agency," I said. "We attempted to eliminate some of them when Ryan Chappelle was killed, but obviously getting to them all is an incomplete and probably unattainable task. With the elevated state of world affairs, some of our agents are responding predictably." I sighed. "As the Admin Assistant, you wouldn't believe how much psychological training they've given me, so I've seen into their heads and I don't like it."

          "Well, neither does the city of Los Angeles."

          "I knew there was a reason I stayed here," I quipped, and we were actually laughing about it.

          My cell phone rang and I answered it briskly. According to schedule that should be the call I was waiting for. "Agent Frederick, go ahead."

          "We've got him."

          "We're on our way." I clapped my phone shut. "They're ready to make an arrest."

          Detective Smith smirked, ready for action. "Here we go."

          Not too long later, he pulled the police sedan, siren in the hood flashing, right up to the front of Division next to a car I recognized as George Mason's. As I climbed out of the backseat, leaving my leather jacket in the car, I scanned the parking lot to see if I saw Jack's Yukon, and spotted it down the row. If Lex had come, he would be with Jack. The team was all here. I nodded to Sergeant Friday to indicate as much, and the three of us advanced.

          I took the lead to get us into the building, swiping my keycard. Security normally didn't stop me, but the detectives had their warrant cards out and ready anyway, just to speed up the process. We passed through the entrance corridor onto the main Division floor and I scanned the massive building. Mason wouldn't sequester Hanlin in his office, so where they were was up in the air. Then I spotted Jack across the room and crossed to meet him. As usual, he was right there for me when I needed him.

          "What's the situation?" I asked when we met him outside a holding room, door closed.

          "He gave up Alberta as the op leader, probably because he thinks he's still deniable."

          "Is he?" Detective Smith asked.

          "Not anymore." Jack opened the door and let the three of us in, following.

          Teddy Hanlin was front-loaded and sitting in a chair on the opposite side of a metal table from the door. Mason was lurking off to his right in case of anything going down; he had probably been doing the interrogating, although Jack had probably been involved too. Lex was sitting in a corner, working the necessary electronics. I walked over to Mason as Detective Smith and Sergeant Friday leaned against the wall, deferring to my different vein of authority here. 

          Leaning over, I said to Mason, "What have you done so far?"

          "Just enough."

          "Okay. Give me five minutes and we're through here." I stepped away from him to the table, resting my palms flat on it and leaning forward like I usually do to make a point. What I was going to say to the guy I hated before he tried to kill me was one thing, but considering that he was following orders, complicated thoughts raced through my mind. "So, you must be pretty pissed," I said nonchalantly after a moment, not even looking at Hanlin. "Missed fucking up my boss's operation, missed putting a bullet in my skull."

          Everyone kind of quirked since I usually kept my language pretty clean at the office, but I was trying to make a statement and it worked. Teddy glanced over at me. "Everyone makes mistakes. Besides, you have to die sometime."

          "Yeah, but that's when Peter Krause oversees my funeral after I stop a bullet." I finally shot daggers in his direction. "I don't even care. I hate you and you hate me and my friends hate you and you hate them. The thing that matters is that we exist as agents of an organization that would kill and try to kill in the interest of a higher security. We're supposed to be better than the people we prosecute!" I ended on an exhalation and shook my head; it was all useless. "We're done here," I said.

          Lex stepped over and handed me the evidence collected by Jack and Mason. I thanked all three as Detective Smith handcuffed Hanlin and read him his Miranda rights. As I was standing there with my back to the affair, Mason leaned over and looked into my eyes. "We're going to nail her for this."

          "Do what you can," I said, then I finally looked up. "Besides, there's always another battlefield, right?"

          He hesitated for a moment, then just nodded. Detective Smith and Sergeant Friday escorted Teddy to the door and I went with them, disappearing again. I'd become like a phantom in the last few days, and those close to me knew it.

          "Is she coming back?" Mason asked Jack in the silence.

          "Yeah." Jack spoke words he knew all too well. "A different person."


	13. The Harbingers

Homicide Division 

**Los Angeles Police Department**

**Los Angeles**

"You're in the game now, buddy."

          I echoed words I remembered someone else saying as I sat in the passenger seat of the police sedan. It had been Sergeant Friday's wise suggestion that he sit in the back with Hanlin; he knew me too well after only about four days on the job. So I sat there in silence, trying to make things that didn't add up come out even.

          Even if they didn't, it didn't matter to me now.

As I lie tossing in my bed 

_Lost in my fears, remembering what you said_

_And I try to hide the truth within_

_The mask of myself shows its face again  
Still I lie time and time again_

_Will you deny me when we meet again?_

Hanlin was escorted by a pair of officers to Booking, and Sergeant Friday, Detective Smith and I walked through into the homicide bullpen, back to their desks. I surveyed the place one last time. With the case closed, I was off of my remand and I'd be going back to work tomorrow, unless I chose to take a long weekend, which I just might. But still, no matter what a whirlwind it had been, I did appreciate the lessons learned and the people I'd learned them with.

          Standing there I exhaled and looked from one officer to the other. "That's it, then."

          "Yeah, with the evidence your coworkers found, he'll go down for the murder and the attempted murder." Sergeant Friday seemed content with this outcome. "Not exactly the way I thought it might go."

          "Me either," I confessed.

          "Well, if you hadn't shown up we would never have thought about any of this," Detective Smith reminded me.

          I half-smiled. "Please don't give me credit."

          "Fine, then pretend you don't hear me." He extended a hand, and I took it willingly. "It's been good working with you. All of it."

And I feel like I'm falling  
Farther every day

_But I know that you're there_

_Watching over me_

_And I feel like I'm drowning  
The waves crashing over me_

_But I know your love_

_It will set me free_

"And I can say the same," I said with a firm handshake, then another for Sergeant Friday. "It's like I told my partner: change of fate, I could easily be standing here."

          "The morning _is_ still young," Detective Smith said, looking over at his partner.

          "What?" I was confused.

          "Well, you don't have to be at work until tomorrow, right? You told your friends you'd be here all day." He was looking back at me now. "If you're going to be here, we may as well put you to work."

          "Are you serious?" 

          "Don't we look serious?" Sergeant Friday cut in. "Pull up a chair. Lesson one: the good guys don't have sides."

          On the lunch break I received a call from Mason. He told me Alberta Green had officially been suspended pending questioning by the Agency's oversight. Until then, he would be the highest ranking officer in CTU, since it no longer had two of its top positions filled. He didn't seem to care about that.

          "So then basically I'm the fifth highest ranking person in CTU."

          "Yeah, you could say that."

          "That's disturbing."

          "Are you coming in tomorrow?"

          Pause. "Of course. We have a lot of work to do, George."

          "I know."

          "I'm sorry about the master list."

          "I wasn't talking about the master list."

          "Neither was I."

          I arrived home at five-thirty so I would be home for Derek and his friends to arrive; I had called Lex and he told me he'd kept them in San Diego, considering that my time in Los Angeles had thinned out; I couldn't blame his logic. I dropped everything on the coffee table, showered, changed into training clothes that were still kind of professional, and actually cleaned the place up a bit. Playing some Wonders and sorting my issues of _Sports Illustrated_ was actually quite cathartic.

          There was only one message on my machine. I punched the play button. He told me he wanted to do this to my face, but he knew I had better things to do, important things to do. He hadn't been able to find evidence to support a Los Angeles incursion, and as such, he had no further reason for remaining in the city. He was catching the next flight to London, where he would take some time to decide what he wanted to do, but whatever he decided should have no impact on what I decided to do with myself. 

          Derek, Chloe, Lan and Jason arrived a few minutes early and introductions and explanations were made quickly. Thankfully, Derek had briefed them on the way, and they had brought all their field equipment with. As we walked through to the training room, Derek looked over to me.

          "Did it happen?"

          "It happened."

          We walked into the training room. No matter if Michael couldn't find evidence to support the idea of a Code Five presence reappearing in L.A., I believed it would happen, and in fact, Jason seemed more convinced than I was. We set to physical training and equipment. There was no time like the present. I liked saying that, but it did have its true meanings. With a glance in Derek's direction, I let go of everything else and focused on what mattered now. It was surprisingly simple.

As I find truth where I found it times before 

_As I search for your hope_

_I'm finding so much more_

_And I try to be more like you_

_And I deny myself to prove my heart is true_

The team were surprisingly good learners. Apparently Derek wasn't the only one. 

Jason proved himself to be able to expertly handle a camera and a gun at the same time, which would probably save someone's life along the way. He was also committed to going out and "kicking some Code Five ass." 

Lan was a tech expert whose talents Lex would have appreciated and had the resourcefulness to match. Thanks to her we'd know exactly what was going on at all times and what we could and couldn't afford to do.

Chloe had a good focus, seeing the big picture. She wouldn't get bogged down in prejudices or misconceptions. I had heard stories from CIB London about people becoming jaded, seeing the Code Five issue as black and white. With Chloe's mind in the game, we wouldn't have any such problem.

And not only did Derek have the heart of a hero, he was also really good at delivering justice with a staff (apparently there was some incident with a rapper, a wax effigy, and him dishing out violence with a pole).

I liked the four of them. They were prepared to back me in the event of an invasion, and I had some other tricks up my sleeve. Derek was excited in the sense that he was once again about to face some of the things he was chasing, and he was making a reality out of it. He held out hope for finding his brother. As for me, I knew they were members of the team the moment I looked into their eyes. You can't hide what it takes to be a hero; you can't deny it, either. Another lesson I'd learned the hard way.

It had gotten dark outside by the time we were through. That meant it was time for some reconnaissance.

Jason beat me to the door.

The sign therein was clear. I made the leap.

I was in the game.

I hear your voice calling 

_The time has come for me…_


	14. Blood and Fire

San Marcos 

**Evening**

          "I feel like I'm on _Cops_," Lan said and I snickered.

          From the passenger seat of the rental car (a suburban), Jason looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, that's about right."

          "Don't worry, if I'm right, they're looking for me anyway," I said.

          Derek looked over at me in the rear-view mirror. "Did you try focusing? Maybe we'd know where."

          "I can try." I closed my eyes and tried to focus in on the second vision that had come to me, of my fighting a Code Five. Trying to remember details, trying to place the location. It would become the team's first slay, which was a whole lot better than mine, a panic attack in a parking lot. But I had to find the building first … slowly I began to piece details together, willing that part of my brain that was receiving these things to give me a specific location.

          My eyes snapped open. "There's a parking garage three blocks down. At the third cross street, hang a left. It'll be open."

          "That close?" Chloe seemed surprised.

          I wasn't. "They know I'm one of two people who can stop them, and one just left. What would you do?"

          A few minutes later Derek swung the surburban into a parking garage which I thought actually went to some business building, which might make sense given that some Code Fives do actually have some business interests. The five of us jumped out of the vehicle and armed up immediately. 

Jason, instead of toting his usual camera, was using a smaller one from CTU that fit inconspicuously on his belt, and he had the gun Michael had given me. Derek was armed with one of my reinforced training staffs, an aluminum-steel hybrid, while Lan was operating my Ehrlich with carbon-tipped ammunition and Chloe had the last of my grenades at hand. I had already requested more from London, enough to outfit the operation; I wondered whether my request or Michael would make it there first. But I was holding my SigArm, specially loaded, and didn't really care that much.

"There's probably recon," I said needlessly. "Only one way to find out."

Obediently, Chloe turned on the giant MagLite flashlight we had brought along. No telling if these Code Fives were smart enough to tell the difference between artificial and real light, but it was a chance worth taking. Together, the five of us began to advance away from the car and further into the depths. That's when all hell broke loose. Jason spotted the first one, and it was time for me to decide: resist or serve, fight or die.

_Where do I put the shame?_

_It feels like a broken toy_

_I can't play with anymore_

Over the last few days I had felt worse than everyone else on the planet, burdened with guilt and any number of emotions. But that was all shelved now, burning in the fire that had taken up residence in my heart. This was what mattered. This fight Michael had abandoned. It still needed fighting. Well, that was my calling. I unlocked the safety on my weapon as I heard Jason squeeze off his first shot. His second dusted the Code Five, and sent the others responding.

_Where do I put the hate?_

_To a pixelated screen  
I can't watch anymore_

Derek tore into the first ones he could get his hands on with an unbridled ferocity. Though he wasn't volatile, I knew he understood the price and power of justice. He had anger inside of him, anger directed specifically at whatever was keeping from his brother. I was pretty sure he'd seen that QuickTime movie over and over again and each time Adam felt so close, and yet so far. Derek was determined to break that wall down, but until he did he'd take breaking the line.

_All I know is that I'm here_

_Drifting somewhere in the vast_

_Somewhere in eternity_

_And I never want to leave_

We couldn't get a read on how many Code Fives were in the cell. I counted five plus the one Jason had dusted, which was fine because it meant even odds. The team knew that too: each was concentrating their assault on one particular target, rather than getting wires crossed. I didn't even have to tell them. Michael's evidence was becoming copper-colored remains on asphalt. This was a situation he never could have handled. He wasn't ready.

_Where do I put the books?  
There's so many I could read_

_But they all are filled with lies_

Lan was actually doing pretty well with the Ehrlich, surprising because its many modes of fire often make it a difficult weapon for first-time handlers. I'd read the manual twice before I'd felt comfortable enough to fire it, but she was smart enough to figure it out and make effective use of it. I stood my ground as another blast rocked it beneath me, another Code Five taken out thanks to her efforts. Without hesitation, she just went for the next one.

_  
Where do I put the lies?  
There's so many I could say_

_But it seems they're in the books_

Chloe was doing a great job of cover fire. Every time there would be a cluster of Code Fives in an area, she would toss a grenade and smoke them out long enough for one or more of us to break away and dust them. And whenever a fighting area was clear, she had the hand vacuum I'd borrowed from Leticia and would go in to pick up the ashes. She was the most weakly armed but didn't act like it, and she could get in and out before trouble started (or escalated, the more accurate term).

_I have faith that you're out there_

_Living high up in the vast_

_Somewhere in eternity_

_And you're never going to leave_

We were down to three, having dusted I didn't know how many. The five of us all looked at each other and formulated a silent plan, admittedly only taken out of physical training and a whole lot of video-game action movies, but it worked fairly well. Jason and Lan had a double-blind going: they'd convince a Code Five Jason was the threat and Lan would fire off in a split second and vaporize the target. As for Derek and I, it was a little harder.

          He stopped what he was doing, making sure he was holding the pole firmly stable for me. I made a quick calculation, grabbed onto it, and vaulted over, able to land myself on the other side of a Code Five and cap it while he beat in the one I had jumped over. By that time, Jason and Lan were there to provide the dusting.

          We waited for more, but more never came.

_Have I been telling lies to myself?_

_Hold me now, you know I am so afraid_

_To be at all_

"Everybody okay?" was my first question. I had treatment equipment at home, but still…

          "Yeah, we're fine," Jason said, breathing hard, and everybody else assented. I relaxed visibly. Chloe got the hand-vac running again and set to work. We'd need our own vault to store the ashes, but I had an idea for that. They make some incredibly cheap freezers. 

          He was still holding his gun, covering Chloe in case the impossible happened and we were attacked again. "So this is how it works?" he said. "We wait until you have a vision, then we show up and smoke them?"

          "I may not be psychic," I corrected. "I might not ever know. But when it's time, they'll make it known. And then we show up and smoke them, and you get to prove it later." I saw the smirk on his face and Derek's; he'd forgotten about the camera. He'd forgotten he had footage, provided he hadn't broken the rig.

          "Damn," he said.

          We all looked round at each other, surveying the field.

_Have I been telling lies to myself?_

_Hold me now, you know I am so afraid_

_To love at all_

"So what do you think?" I said. "Can we do this?"

          The implicit question was clear.

_I looked up and I saw the moon  
The same one that betrayed you_

_I looked up and I saw my place_

_I looked in and I felt no hate…_

          Derek spoke first. "We can do this."

          Lan nodded. "We've done everything else, practically." We all started laughing, a welcome relief.

          "Right," I said, holstering my gun, "Then I'm going freezer shopping tomorrow. London is sending more supplies. We'll also need a base of operations, so I'm either converting the workout room, or…"

          "Finding a big freaky warehouse?" Jason suggested.

          "I was going to say using the apartment above us. I don't think anyone else, and we could add stairs or something." I cracked a smile. "That said, we'll get your affairs wrapped up, and since you just survived your first slayage: welcome to the team."

          Derek extended a hand ceremonially, and I took it firmly as he smiled at me and said, "Good to be here."

          It was time to go home. The work was done, and the future had been made up. Tomorrow I would start the arduous process of turning my apartment into an operations base, and of going from me to who I needed to be. CTU agent by day, CIB field leader by night, and oh yeah, full-time college student at the age of seventeen. Eastern philosophy would be proud of me. As we climbed into the van, though, I knew the best part hadn't even started.

          Game on.


	15. Coda: Next Phase

Counter Terrorist Unit 

**Los Angeles**

**Six Months Later**

          "What's next?"

          I looked over at Lex as the two of us walked across the floor, fresh from the break room. "I don't know."

          "Did you go and get your head checked?"

          "Oh, like that's going to tell me anything." I laughed. "I'm just taking it day by day."

          "Good idea."

          The two of us settled in at our workstations. CTU was virtually the same as I had always remembered it, with the same people and energy that made me love to be a part of the place. Alberta Green had been fired. They'd replaced her and Chappelle at the same time, consolidating the office so as to avoid bureaucracy in the future. Lex had been utterly stunned when he heard that Alberta's replacement, to work in concert with Mason, was none other than Langley's own Jackson Haisley. 

          I was back at work and acting as one of Mason's pillars to get CTU back on its feet. I would help explain to Jackson how things worked, and sit down with him, Mason, Jack and others to decide how things needed to be run from here. Other than that, it was back to business as usual, making CTU work twenty-four seven without a hesitation. It was pretty good, and I knew I'd made a good career choice. I wouldn't be making any feature films, but at least I could work with Derek and Jason on a film or two, and that would be good enough.

          "Oh, by the way…"

          "What?" I said, turning round to face Lex.

          "We're changing your job title to 'Special Agent In Charge of Superheroics.'"

          I laughed. "Don't deify me yet."

          And as we turned and walked on, I couldn't keep from thinking the future was here, and the future was now, and we were right in the middle of it. There was nowhere else I could be.

Something wrong for something right 

_There's trouble in the air tonight_

_From the dark into the light_

_Change is in the air tonight_

****__

_And I'm searching through the years to find the answer_

_Now it seems within our line of sight_

          I walked through the door of the Starbucks and found he'd beaten me to it. He was already there, looking relaxed and ready for anything, and when he saw me we smiled evenly at each other. I took the seat Derek had once occupied, and looked across at Detective Smith, who had a slight smirk on his face. Sergeant Friday had told me that he had been very pleased with the conviction of Teddy Hanlin on all counts by an L.A. jury, and that look confirmed it for me.

          "You can't possibly still be that happy."

          "Watch me," he said, lips quirking.

          "It was a week ago."

          "Hey, it's not that long." He looked across at me. "How are things going?"

          "Good. We'll be ready when the time comes."

          "How much time?"

          I shrugged slightly. "I don't know. You never know. You just try to be ready when it happens, and I think we've got a spirited team with the skills to succeed. I can't clearly define my enemy, but … I know what the horizon looks like."

          The man I'd come to like and respect immensely nodded encouragingly. "Take care of yourself."

          "I will," I promised. "Plus, I've always got you to cover my back."

          "You know it," he said, "but you won't need it."

_In your hands_

_In your hands_

_The freedom that you want_

_Is in your hands_

_***_

_Reaching for another life_

_They're walking on the wire tonight_

_Caught between the wrong or right_

_Doesn't matter anyway_

I made it home by eight. My social secretary was making dinner arrangements, ordering out. "Everyone's upstairs," she told me, and I nodded.

          We had indeed renovated the apartment above us, using funds given to us by CIB out of the account they'd used to cover Michael's aborted recon. Now the upstairs level was home to staff quarters, a meeting room, a medical facility, and the other necessities of the Los Angeles branch strike team. As for me, though, I still lived downstairs in my old bedroom, which I breezed into to get cleaned up. The renovation had been finished about five months ago thanks to some help from all of my friends in getting it done expediently, and Derek, Jason, Chloe and Lan had moved in right about that time. It made a nice duality: I saved the known world, then battled the unknown, and while they were waiting to join the fight, they worked on their own pursuits during the day. Including Adam's disappearance.

          I set my CTU attache case down on my bed and looked over at myself in the mirror. If you'd asked me three years ago, now three and three-quarters years, if I'd ever thought I'd sacrifice my life to fight for not one but two government agencies in the cause of the higher good, I would have been surprised. But now it just seemed like something I was now prepared to do, something that I was now capable of doing, and would continue to pursue with the dedication I'd known before the crossing over.

          With a little smile that reflected both how lucky and how challenged I felt, I finished up and headed up the new staircase to the second level, the ascension both a symbol and an action, and some combination of both.

_They've been searching for the answer_

_Still searching for the answer tonight_

The entire strike team was waiting for me at the meeting table. We were trying to distance ourselves from acronyms and miscued allegiances and were thus unofficially known as Code Black. Whatever we were called, all seven of us were present as I headed up the stairs and chose to stand rather than taking my chair at the circular table.

          I looked at all of them, now trained, educated, armed and ready for a fight of unknown proportions. Derek sat to my left, next to Jason, Lan, and Chloe. 

Next to Chloe was my old friend, Eric Weiss. He and I had served together on all of my missions, and when I needed someone he jumped at the chance. He'd stepped down as Leticia's handler at the CIA to focus on his ops duties, which would allow him more time on the squad. 

The final member of the team was Ben Carroway, a former member of the FBI's Psychological Warfare division who'd been fired for some clandestine reasons. We'd picked him up through some interagency contacts, and he'd been reinstated with the Los Angeles Bureau office thanks to George Mason. All of them were willing and committed to what we knew would be hard. But life often is.

_In your hands_

_In your hands_

_The freedom that you want_

_Is in your hands_

"We're doing pretty well," I said for starters. "We're ready for this. But."

People were surprised by the 'but' in my statement, but I continued.

"People are going to say this isn't real. They'll say even if it is it can't be done. And what are we going to tell them?"

          Everybody at the table was able to come up with the answer, but Weiss got it first, in traditional Eric Weiss fashion.

          "Bring it on."

**End.**

****

**Acknowledgements:**

As with _Coventry_ and _Their Law_, this piece of work was inspired by stellar actors who provided great characters, and I'd like to thank them all: Xander Berkeley (George Mason), Kiefer Sutherland (Jack Bauer), Richard Speight Jr. (Lex), Ed O'Neill (Sgt. Joe Friday), Karim Prince (Jason), Lizette Carrion (Lan), Lisa Sheridan (Chloe), Greg Grunberg (Eric Weiss), Andrew McCarthy (Ben Carroway), Anthony LaPaglia (the fictionalization of Professor Cox), and my favorite conflicted hero, Jack Davenport (Michael Colefield). However, I have to give a big nod to Ethan Embry (Det. Frank Smith/Derek Barnes), whose _Dragnet_ and _Freakylinks_ work inspired me to take another go at this series and bring him along for the ride. I probably wouldn't have considered a part three to _Life Serial_ if I hadn't seen a lot of _Dragnet_. And of course, Tisha, who, although she may not have been in this one a lot, is still my perpetual sidekick.

As for the question I keep getting asked, which is who Brittany ends up with at the end of _Heaven's Fortune_, I'll let you make up your own mind – it could be Michael, it could be Derek, it could be Det. Smith, it could be anybody or it could be nobody. If I ever do a part four, which I'm outlining now to be called _Imago Dei_ and focus on the strike team, I'll give you my idea. But go whichever way you prefer. In the words of Seal, "Who am I to tell you something that you enjoy really isn't that way? If you like it, that's the way it is."

**Music List:**

Part 6: "Wash It Away" by Black Lab.

Part 7: "How's It Going To Be" by Third Eye Blind.

Part 9: "If You Want Blood (You Got It)" by AC/DC.

Part 11: "Farther Down" by Matthew Sweet.

Part 12: "On A High" by Duncan Sheik.

Part 13: "Crash" by 12 Stones.

Part 14: "Here" by VAST.

Part 15: "In Your Hands" by John Farnham.


End file.
